


Synechís

by sassenachpetals



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Heartbreak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:54:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23084311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassenachpetals/pseuds/sassenachpetals
Summary: A missing moment set in the hours after the events of 5x01 "The Fiery Cross," after Jamie's scene with Murtagh.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser, Jamie Fraser & Murtagh Fraser
Comments: 15
Kudos: 70





	Synechís

Her hands were raw. 

She’d been scrubbing away at pots and plates for an indeterminate amount of time.

Having parted ways with Jamie earlier in the afternoon, Claire had gone straight home, started a fire in the hearth of the house, changed into her shift and warm cloak, and donned her thickest wool socks. She’d felt the need to keep her hands occupied so she’d cleaned the house from top to bottom, or at least the completed portions--it would have been useless to scrub the areas Jamie and the men were still working on.

She knew what had been on his mind and she knew what he’d set out to do. He had left to try one last time to convince Murtagh to abandon the Regulator cause, at least for a time. At least until Jamie could join him and fight on the same side of the Revolutionary War. Of history. 

But she knew Murtagh’s mind almost as well as she knew her husband’s. They shared the same Fraser stubbornness, after all: Murtagh would not abandon a cause that gave him purpose, a reason to get up every day.

She didn’t blame him. Thinking back on her own years of feeling helpless (before medical school, before returning to Jamie) she knew what it was to live a half-fulfilled life. Murtagh had always guarded Jamie’s flank, but Jamie was grown now — a laird of his own men, a grandfather, and set between a rock and a hard place. That was certain to bring a certain sadness with it for Murtagh. 

Jamie didn’t need him as he once did; he’d be free to release Murtagh of his oath. That didn’t make this any easier for Jamie.

Letting her hands fall into the warm water in the basin, Claire let out a sigh. She felt the ache of tears stinging at the back of her throat, but she swallowed them down. A glance out the window told her nighttime was falling fast. The sun was almost below the horizon, disappearing beneath the Earth’s soil for the next twelve hours, and soon darkness would descend. She needed to be moving, doing something. Her mind was too busy to be left to its own devices.

But her hands were raw.

So Claire placed the dishes aside, letting the clatter break her out of her stupor. It worked. Picking up the soft indigo quilt Bree had made for her, she crossed to the small chair near the fireplace to wait for Jamie—and to mourn her own sorrow for Murtagh, the first friend she’d unknowingly met in this time.

She braided and unbraided her hair. She watched the flames in the hearth dance. She played with the frayed edges of the worn cloak around her as her mind wandered through the memories lapping at her consciousness. That terrifying first day in this century, meeting the gruff, bearded Scot with a heart of gold in the woods of Scotland. Their quiet companionship on the road. Their shared fear of losing Jamie. The lengths they’d gone to for weeks tracking him down. The dancing and song. The fortune telling. Paris. Prestonpans. Not being able to say goodbye…then saying hello again. Introducing him to Brianna…

Brushing away tears she hadn’t realized were flowing so freely, she laid her head on the back of the chair, eyes searching the wooden beams overhead.

She tried to convince herself this was a temporary goodbye, one that would be rectified once Governor Tryon was satisfied with Jamie’s efforts or once the Revolutionary War started. However, a deeper dread settled in her chest, one she refused to acknowledge.

Whatever her grief, she knew it was only a ripple in the pool of Jamie’s—and that broke her heart even further.

___________________________

She wasn’t sure what had awoken her, but she was aware of how on edge she felt. Her hands were still raw but, being dry now, they chafed and caught against the fabric of the quilt. A dull ache in her lower back made her shift, slowly waking her body to the dim, hazy room around her. 

Then, her ears picked up the creaking of steps as someone ascended them towards the front door.

_Jamie._

Rising from the chair, feeling her bones ache as if in fever and her heart just as sore, Claire padded towards the entrance. Her breath caught in her throat, the pounding in her ears blocking out all sound as the door opened and he stepped through.

At once, she took all of him in: weary eyes suddenly years older than the man she remembered from earlier that day, tight shoulders clenching to hold his drained form upright, heavy feet threatening to sink the house beneath them, hands in fists at his side, the smell of salty tears and mud.

Then sound came roaring back into her world as he raised his face to look at her—an empty gaze—and a croaking sob lept out of his mouth like the sound of his heart shattering. She had barely enough time to catch his elbows as he crumpled. She let herself be pulled with him, their knees coming into contact with the smooth boards below. 

Jamie wrapped his arms around her desperately as he hit the ground, grabbing fistfuls of the cloak she wore. Wracking sobs juddered through him and echoed into the empty space of the house. Claire swore she could almost see his sorrow seeping like blood onto her own hands, making its way in tendrils to her core. But she ignored the gaping cavity that opened in her heart; she’d shed her tears. Holding him as tight against her as she could, she let his weight crush her. She let him cry, running her hand in circles on his back, encouraging him to breathe when his lungs refused, when they hitched and bucked against the lead grip his grief held on them. She let him mourn the one constant in his life.

“Jamie…” Her voice cracked and trailed off. There weren’t words. 

They stayed that way for a while, and eventually his body relaxed. Gently, she loosed his hair and ran her fingers through it, counting the greys among the ruddy red as he calmed. His cheeks’ heat dissipated against her lap, serving to cool him with each second that passed. Slowly, his breath came more regularly. Though his hands retained their grip on her, his long muscles reluctantly began to unwind and stretch.

Letting out a soft breath, she lifted his head gently with her hand.

When he met her gaze again, his eyes were red but the panic was gone. A quiet peace had descended on his brow and seeped into his jaw.

Her hands were raw.

She ran her cracked fingers along the stubble of his chin, but she welcomed the pinpricks of pain—it meant he was still there with her. In the hope that her rawness could heal his own, she continued the small strokes until he spoke.

“It’s done.” Jamie’s voice was hollow, hardly recognizable as his own.

Feeling her eyes welling up, Claire nodded and placed a tender kiss on his forehead—her lips singed by the heat there—then brushed his tears away. Finally, placing another kiss on his lips, she breathed him in and lingered there, willing him to hear the thoughts she couldn’t voice and the words that would most certainly come tomorrow. 

_I’m here._

Almost imperceptibly, she felt her husband nod. 

After a moment’s silence, Claire pried herself out of his arms, stood, and offered a hand to him. 

Gratefully, he took it and lifted himself.

One foot under him. Then the other.

Together, they made their way to the bedroom, welcoming the oblivion of sleep and the comfort of each other’s arms. Bodies sore, hearts battered, but together, and with soft hope for reunion and healing in the months to come. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was a scene I just couldn't get out of my head. I was desperate to see Claire and Jamie coming back together after his heartbreaking conversation with Murtagh, as well as Claire's own thoughts about Murtagh. Thanks to @smasheroteacups for her help. <3
> 
> Synechís is the Greek word for 'constant.'


End file.
